


A Glorious Mosaic

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [148]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Castles, Early Mornings, M/M, Schmoop, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 02:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The sun was hardly stirring in the sky when the king awoke from a deep and very sweet sleep.





	A Glorious Mosaic

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: 5 AM and Castle. Prompts from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

The sun was hardly stirring in the sky when the king awoke from a deep and very sweet sleep. So deep, in fact, and so complete had been his oblivion that when he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to orient himself. The room was his own, of course, the same chamber in which he’d slept for all his adult years; the bed, too, he knew, but there was a feeling of difference, as if something had shifted, like the colored tiles in the kaleidoscope he’d had as a child.

In those first moments of wakefulness, though, he was not sure what it was.

But then, at his side, he realized, there was a weight, the press of another’s body; he was, indeed, laying in the pleasant cage of someone else’s arms, someone who smelled faintly of honeyed oil and sweat, of sleep and--the king’s face was touched with a blush--of spend.

All at once, the king’s mind was awake, a pyre in the early morning dark, and the pieces of the kaleidoscope, the many colors of the previous day, formed a glorious mosaic:

He was married now. Married to a beautiful man whose favor had never wavered, whose loyalty was like granite itself, whose joy at their union had radiated from his countenance every minute, every hour of the previous day. The king remembered that his own fingers had trembled when the mage had joined their hands, when they’d had to stand still as the wizard bound them together with a strip of sacred cloth and a soft incantation, a spell designed to bind their souls in the same way they’d chosen to join their hearts. The king had been shaking, overwhelmed perhaps at last by the enormity of the day, but his lover, his beloved had only gripped him more tightly and smiled into his eyes.

He’d smiled every hour, had James, every hour of that long, long day; through the banquet, through his public introduction--and oh, how the people had cheered when he had kissed the king in front of them, had made their affection plain for even those in the back of the huge crowd to see--and through the evening’s abolutions, as they were undressed and blessed and washed with water that smelled of crushed roses, the air filled with a beautiful tension that sang louder even than the mage’s final chanted words.

And then at last, they’d been alone, tucked into this very bed, and though they had taken liberties with one another many times and long ago learned every inch of the other’s skin, there was something undeniably different about their kisses that night, a fresh kind of ardor that made them hungry for each other, that made each touch, each stroke feel new.

It had not been enough to find pleasure in the other once, nor twice; now, as he lay in the soft shadows of morning, the king remembered taking James three times, burying himself in that sweet, beloved heat as James cried out his name and raised his hips, his body and his mouth begging for more.

“I need it,” he’d whispered in the king’s ear, pitching his voice over the thud of the bed, the hoarse wonder of the king’s own sighs. “I need it, Stevie. Need to be full of you. Please, please do it harder.”

And he had; oh, Makers, had he. Bent over James, his hands caught beneath James’ knees, and fucked into him like an eager pup chasing his very first knot.

James had pulled at his hair, dugs his nails deep into the king’s shoulders, the back of his neck, and come with his hand on his cock, pulled the seed from his own body as the king buried his inside James with a fierce, aching shout.

“Yes, _drăguţ_ ,” the king’s husband had hummed, the smell of his body, of their shared satisfaction enveloping the room like so much light. “Yes, yes, Stevie. Just like that.”

Three times they had joined and three times they had knotted and by the third, the king had been sobbing and deliciously sore, his eyes wet with exhaustion and the weight of so much love. They had warned him, his mage and his counselors, that it would be like this, different; the same act they’d played a hundred times, he and his beloved, but never before within the bounds of marriage, never before under the imperative of magic first spun a thousand years before when their people had been few and the need for new children fundamental and urgent.

“I’m not ready to be a father,” the king had told his sage frankly, had repeated again and again, too, to his mage. “There are enough in my charge as it is; my country is already my cradle.”

“Well,” his sage, Anthony, had said, tart as always, “it’s not up to you, is it? It’s nature’s course. You’ll either knock your Jamie boy up or you won’t. And something tells me that if you don’t do it that night, you’ll sure as all hells keep trying.”

His mage, Stephen, had been more direct. “The choice will be out of your hands,” he’d said, regarding the king through his dark, glowing eyes. “But know that if you do succeed, the people will see it as a great omen of future success.”

“Are you ready for that?” the king had asked James later, as they watched women and men scurry about the courtyard, preparing for the celebration to come. “To be ‘an omen of future success’? Ugh. It makes you sound more like an object than a man.”

But James, dear James, had slung an arm around the king’s waist and kissed his cheek, rubbed his mouth over the soft skin beneath the king’s ear. “I know what I’m getting into. Stop trying to talk me out of it.”

“I’m not!"

James’s teeth closed and he gave the king a small, tantalizing bite. “Stop worrying, then. I’m not going to leave you alone at the altar, Stevie.”

The king had found himself smiling, found himself pulling his beloved in for a proper kiss. “Is that meant to be reassuring?”

“It is.” James’s hands settled on the king’s waist. “Is it working?”

“Hmmmm,” the king had said, tucking his smile against James’s. “Kiss me and then ask again.”

And now it was done, they were married, and James was curled up behind him, warm and smelling so good, and the king’s heart ached with contentment, a feeling so bone deep that it made him feel heavy, so heavy that, for a moment, it was hard to conceive of a time when he would leave this bed.

The electric frenzy of the magic was gone, carried away by their passion and the passage of time, and still he found himself wanting, found himself already hard and twitching under the sheets. That James was so close did not help; nor did the soft snuffle of his breath, because even as he clung to sleep, James’s hips were moving against the king’s ass, his cock stiffening as he stirred it against soft flesh.

He’d be wet, the king though, biting his lip. Wet still, surely, from their long night, and ready. Messy in the way that appealed to something primal in him, something deliciously base, and he imagined burying his face between James’s thighs and tasting himself there, the dirty sweet of it, the shame in how good it felt to lick away the last of his spend. There’d be no question that James was his now, public ceremony or no; he’d shoved his scent so deep in the man that no other would be able to walk past James and not know that he was taken, not know whom he belonged to, and it shocked him, how arousing it was, the notion of having _claimed_.

It had never appealed to him before; indeed, despite Stephen’s counsel, he’d been put off by his people’s affection to the old ways, the tenacity to which they clung to traditions, suspicions, that had no practical us, so far as the king could see. But now, having spent the night drowned in them, consumed by them, he began to see the sweetness of their appeal.

James shifted against his back, his cock brushing the cleft of the king’s body, and the king let out a low groan, a sound that spoke of a deep and abiding need, a need that the king could not satisfy, he could not; if his husband slept, then the king would let him rest, would not subject him to the peaks of his own, selfish desire.

He reached down to take himself in hand and found himself leaking, the slick already pungent and thick, and he moaned as his fingers closed around the shaft, as he gave himself a hard, eager squeeze. Even free of the night’s magic, he would not last long. Oh, Makers.

He curled in on himself, working his cock in his fist as quietly as he could, swallowing as many of the hot sounds that threatened up from his throat as he could, a task made only more difficult by the sudden pitch of James’s hips, an angle that treated him to a new press of heat, a hint of warm, fragrant wet.

He cried out, he couldn’t help it, and then there were teeth at the top of his spine, a sharp, hungry bite.

“Selfish of you, husband, to try and keep that to yourself. My first morning as your own and this is how you thank me? Tsk. Trying to spill on your own what is mine?”

The king broke the circle of his beloved’s arms and rolled over with a roar, a sound that came from somewhere beyond time, and when he found James’s mouth, it was already open, spread as wide and as eager as his legs.

“Take it, then,” the king got out between kisses, between the first and second shoves of his fevered cock into James’s body. “Take all that's yours, beloved."

“Every day,” James panted, his hands caught in the king's hair. “Every day and for the rest of my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> aRRRGGGgh I feel like with one more beat here, this would be a complete story. Maybe I'll return to it later today.


End file.
